When Dawn Fades to Dusk
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: For Yuki Eiri, it is always winter; always night. What little light he has is drawn from his relationship with Shindou Shuichi, who--while obnoxious--faces the world with hope and childlike love. But, what if that light were to suddenly go out?


DISCLAIMER:  No ownership claimed, no money gained.

WARNINGS:  Angst, some swearing, and obvious shounen ai. C'mon, it's Gravi.  Whaddya expect? :)

SPOILERS:  None as far as I can tell.  It helps if you know that **** and ******* are living together. ^_~.

---

**When Dawn Fades to Dusk**

by Ryuen

~*~*~

Sighing softly, Yuki lowered himself onto the couch, pressed his back against the pale green cushions, and closed his eyes.  He had another headache--but then, that wasn't all that surprising.  Shuichi's voice rarely dropped beneath a mind-shattering decibel unless he was upset about something, and, unfortunately, the pink-haired boy had been cheerier than ever lately.  Yuki pressed a hand over his eyes, fought back the gnarling yearn for nicotine, and tried to focus on something other than the pounding in his skull and the addiction twitching through his veins.  

The daylight was just starting to slip down towards the horizon, the sunlight growing wan and pale with the fading afternoon, but the air was still warm--a wisp of fragrant breeze filtered in through the open window, brushed the hair back from his forehead.  It was a warm, beautiful spring day, filled with sunlight and humid winds and chirping birds.  A gorgeous day, and one even the most dark-hearted man in the world should be able to appreciate.

And yet...somehow, it still felt like winter. 

Chill, damp, dark, lonely...  What was the point in watching the sun rise every morning when it was only going to drop down again, anyway?  What was the point in coming to depend on the warmth and the light when it was only going to abandon him for the dark and the cold and the night?  Summer always faded to autumn, autumn to winter.  Dawn to dusk.  Life to death.  An unexpected sheen of tears whispered against his eyelids, made him wince.

_Damn you, you're not going to cry.  It's been too long and you're too old.  Stop it.    _

The command seemed to sober him somewhat, and a moment later, he was back under control.

He was vaguely aware, then, of the passage of time.  Outside, there was the distant echo of cars rolling down the road, the irritating braying of honking horns, the low rumble of voices, and even the hesitant twitter of birds.  In the next room, the television was chattering on in a high female voice about some sort of miracle cooking utensil, and a few feet away, the disk drive was grumbling to itself for no logical reason at all.  Yuki felt himself drifting, let the few remaining tears trickle onto the hand still pressed to his eyes--

And, then, suddenly, he was wide awake and it was dark and something had woken him up but what but what?  

Something heavy thudded into the door.  

He sat up very straight on the couch, painfully aware of just how loud the television was, just how dark the room had grown; just how very alone he was.  It wasn't that he was afraid, of course--but, it was dark, it was bleak, and he was irrationally lonely.  

_Idiot, _he murmured silently. _I thought you'd outgrown this._

Drawing in a long breath, Yuki rose from the couch, smoothing briefly at the ruffled fabric of his white button-up, and walked to the door.  As he moved, whoever was on the other side knocked again, this time more loudly and urgently--and, then, his fingers were wrapped around the knob, twisting...  The door swung open.

He frowned.

Hiro was breathing hard, crimson locks of hair hanging in tangled, matted clumps over his cheeks, and--  He felt his frown deepen.  The younger man's simple black T-shirt was slightly-ripped, his blue jeans torn and muddied at the knees.  His face, meanwhile, was haggard and twisted in something like horror, and a smudge of darkness that could've been blood streaked across his cheek.

"Nan da?" Yuki asked quietly.  

_Stay calm.  There's no need to overreact._  

"Y...Yuki-san," Hiro managed.  His voice was high and unfamiliar, his words crumbling away like dry, thirsty soil.  The red-haired man bent into a shaky half-bow, then, and as he moved, Yuki couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be favoring his left leg.  An injury?  What...what was going on here?  
  


"Onegai," Hiro went on from within the bow, "you have to come with me.  I...he needs you.  Please, Yuki-san."

_Stay calm.  _

He said nothing, just stood there and stared and waited.

Hiro straightened abruptly, glared up at him with a shocking flood of tears in his eyes.  "Don't do this, you bastard!" he cried.  "Don't you get it?  He made me leave him just so I could get you!  He made me _leave_ him all _alone_ so I could _get you_!  He loves you, damn it, and he wants you there, so stop fucking pretending that you don't give a damn and _come with me!_'"

_Stay calm.  Stay.  Calm.  Stay..._

"Where is he?"  His voice was wavering, just slightly.  Damn it, damn it...

Hiro's voice sank.  "Just a few blocks away, in front of Akizawa's.  The...the paramedics are coming, but...but, they...they might not--"

Something snapped inside of him, then, and he brushed past the shaky guitarist, broke into a full run down the sidewalk despite the fact that he didn't know what he was running into; despite the fact that he knew he should be staying calm; despite the fact that his feet were clad only in thin white socks and thus every step was a new burst of stinging agony.  An urgency he didn't quite understand was driving him onward, pushing him into painful step after painful step--and, yet...he could stop...couldn't he?  He didn't need to do this, to stress even more the fragile lungs of a chain-smoker...no.  No, surely--surely, whatever it was, it wasn't _that_ urgent; things weren't _that_ desperate.  He could stop.  He could slow down.  He could walk, calmly and casually, like it were any other night, any other reason for walking.  He could walk.

And, yet...at the same time, he couldn't.  Something dark and frightening was writhing in his stomach, clenching at his heart, and all he could do was keep running, the chill air sweeping like death against his face, the distant roar of sirens echoing in his ears; his feet thundering beneath him.  Running...running...running...step after step after st--

And then, so abruptly that something inside of him gasped, he was there.  One moment, there was moonlit darkness and the tentative warmth of a spring night--and then the next, he was standing frozen in the center of the sidewalk, staring into the stuff of nightmares and trying vainly to catch his breath.

There had, quite obviously, been an accident.

Jagged pieces of metal and chrome lay scattered in a rough half-circle around the remains of Hiro's motorcycle, mingling with the pale blue fragments of the car it had smashed into--the car that now lay flipped onto its back only a few feet away, the passenger's side wrapped around the pole of a street light like some bizarre kind of jewelry.  Splashes of vibrant scarlet decorated the interior of the car, a morbid abstractionist painting, but except for this telltale admission of injury, there was no sign of any of the occupants.  In fact, there was no sign of anyone here at all, except for...

The breath seemed to catch in his lungs.

A shock of pink hair, matted and doused with crimson, was just barely visible beneath the wan snatches of moonlight--as was the ripped, bloodied clothing, the painfully-slim arms and legs bent at unnatural angles; the warm pool of scarlet, creeping like a slow flood of lava over the sidewalk.  And, then the voice, so thin and weak that it almost couldn't be heard, and yet somehow so loud that it deafened him.

"Yu...ki."

  
The blond man walked rigidly through the metallic carnage, bits of glass and chrome stabbing into his feet, drawing their own pricks of blood, and several breathless eternities later, he found himself at Shuichi's side.  The nineteen-year-old was lying curled into a weak little ball on the sidewalk, so bathed in the heat of his own blood that it was difficult to tell just where the boy's injury's _were_.  And, yet, despite the agony he must be in, those wide blue eyes were open; aware--staring at him; staring _into_ him.  He sank to his knees on the sidewalk.

Shuichi smiled.  "Yuki," he breathed.  "You...you came."  
  


It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, and yet he did both, his eyes narrowing into a familiar twinge of irritation.  "Baka," he whispered, drawing the thin, shivering body into his arms, pillowing the pink head in his lap.  "I was sleeping.  You know I need my sleep.  You shouldn't've woken me."  
  


"G...Gomen, Yuki," he murmured.  "You know me.  I...I never think.  I'm..."  
  


The tears were hot in his eyes, betrayal at its finest.  "Annoying," he supplied quietly.  "Stupid, annoying, and bad in bed.  Zero talent, too."  
  


Shuichi smiled again, and his eyelashes fluttered briefly closed before flicking open again.  "Hai," he breathed.  "Zero."  A pause.  The younger man's breathing seemed to be growing labored, each inhalation a wheeze of effort and pain.  The distant sirens, too, were growing closer, but not nearly close enough.  "Ne, Yuki?"  
  


The word felt ashen on his tongue.  "Nani?"  

"Call...call me by my name again.  Please?  Call...me by my name."

A thread of anguish crept into his voice, flavored it with the salt of tears.  "Shuichi," Yuki whispered.  "Shuichi."  Labored breaths, slowing...  "Shuichi."  Slowing...  "Shui--"

The body in his arms went still.  Breath stopped.  Motion stopped.  And, slowly, the faint smile trailed from the younger man's lips, and even the glaring blue of his eyes went dark.

And, the silence...the silence was deafening.

Yuki stumbled to his feet, unsteady and suddenly very aware of the shards of glass and metal piercing through his flesh.  And, yet, he didn't feel them; he didn't feel the pain.  He was...numb.  His feet, his legs, his fingers, his heart.  Numb.  And, empty.  So...empty.  

"Shuichi.  Shuichi.  Shuichi."  Whispered words fluttered from his lips--a chant; a prayer.  "Shuichi.  Shuichi."  
  


He fell to his knees, collapsed onto his side on the street.  A jagged piece of chrome tore into his flesh, sent a burst of surprised blood welling out onto the white of his shirt, but he was too numb to feel it.  Too numb even to feel the hot tears streaking down his cheeks; too numb to feel the ragged sobs that ripped through his throat, tore at his lungs, fell from his lips like screams.  It...it wasn't fair.  Damn Shuichi.  _Damn_ him for making him feel this way again.  Damn him for these tears!  DAMN HIM!  It wasn't FAIR!  IT WASN'T FAIR!

"Shuichi," he wept.  "Shuichi..."

He was vaguely aware of something warm touching his shoulder; of a familiar, shaky voice echoing in his ears.  "Yuki.  Yuki?  Yuki, daijobu ka?"  
  


He opened his eyes, felt disoriented for a moment.  The...the sun was shining?  What in the name of...?  He frowned, swiped at the tears still clinging to his cheeks, and struggled vainly to get some grip on his surroundings.  He was...he was in his apartment??  The familiar ceiling hovered above him, even as the comforting warmth of the couch cushions enwrapped him in safety and relief.  How...how had he gotten back here?  Why was it daytime?  And, who...who was...

Two very wide blue eyes suddenly flashed into his line of sight. "Y-Y-Y-Yuki!" Shuichi gasped.  "Y-You're crying!!  Doushite?  What's wrong?  What happened?  AHHHHHHHHH, someone hurt you and I wasn't here to hellllllllp!"  The boy threw himself onto the older man's torso, cried loudly for a few moments.

Yuki's eyes closed.  He was still shaking, still able to feel the unfamiliar sobs lingering in his throat.  But...but, it had been...a dream?  No accident?  No blood?  No...no...?

"Shuichi," he murmured.

The boy went suddenly rigid.  "You...you called me..."  
  


Yuki went on without pause, his voice low, his eyes lightly closed.  "Before, when I told you that you were stupid, I meant it.  And, when I told you that you were annoying and had zero talent and were bad in bed, I meant that, too."  
  


Shuichi's eyes were wide and questioning, his lips twisted into a frown.  "Y-Yuki...?"

His voice was firm.  "Things can't go on this way.  You can't live in my house if you're not even going to try to improve."  
  


"I'll try!!" he squeaked.  "Please, Yuki, I'll--"

The boy broke off, suddenly finding soft, warm lips pressing against his own.  "You irritate me," Yuki murmured, nose to nose with the younger man, the gold-flecked green of his eyes glowing with dulled anger.  "More and more every day, you irritate me.  You're always so loud.  You cry too much.  You leave the T.V. on.  And...yet." 

He closed his eyes, the sudden image of chrome and blood and silence stinging against the backs of his eyelids like bursts of flame, drawing the breath out of his lungs.  Through the darkness, he could feel Shuichi's frown.

"Yuki?"  
  


His eyes flared open.  "You irritate me when you're here!  You make me crazy!  You make want to leave this place and never come back!"  His voice dropped, then, drew a hint of wonder into it.  "So, why is it so empty when you're gone?  Why do I wish you were here when all you do is annoy me?  I don't understand it."  
  


There was a slight pause, and then--

"Yuuuuuuuuuuki!" Shuichi cried, and a moment later, the boy had flopped on top of him, was lying with his cheek nestled in the hollow of his neck, his slim arms wrapped tightly around the broad, carefully-muscled chest.  "Yuki," he said softly, "I'm sorry I'm so annoying.  I'm sorry I-I make you want to leave.  Demo..."  
  


The body in his arms was warm, the boy's gentle breathing instinctively slowing into rhythm with his own, joining their breaths into one smooth, united effort.  "Demo?" he echoed.

"Demo," Shuichi murmured, "I know that you...you love me, Yuki.  E-Even if you never say it--"  The boy shifted, lifted his head to meet the older man's eyes.  His cheeks were flushed.  "--I-I know that you do."  Pause.  "Don't you?"  
  


Yuki said nothing for a long moment, staring silently into the vibrant blue of those eyes--and, it was strange, but somehow, he could see himself in those eyes, could catch a whispering glimpse of his own gold-green eyes within them, echoed back and bathed in glittering blue.

_In these eyes, I'm nothing but pure; nothing but alive.  In these eyes, there is no winter.  There is no night._

_It's always dawn for you, isn't it, Shuichi?_

"Baka," he whispered.

He drew the younger man down into a kiss, felt the warm breeze of Shuichi's breath trickle into his lungs like new life.  The daylight faded around them, then, the warm spring afternoon dropping into evening, but even as the glint of moonlight flooded into the apartment, for Yuki Eiri, the sun still glittered like spun gold.

Morning came many hours later, and found them still wrapped in each other's arms, matching smiles drawing at their lips.  

~*~


End file.
